The bulky material was constricting around his body as pressure was applied from the outside.
What the hell was happening?
Hickok thrashed and kicked in a vain effort to dislodge his assailant.
The constriction had spread from his arms, over his waist, to his legs.
Was it a snake?
Or one of the radiation-induced deviates?
Hickok tripped and fell onto his stomach. Before he could assess his situation, he was grabbed and lifted from the ground. He could feel his body being carried.
Had the soldiers caught him in some type of net?
A blanket?
That was it!
Some type of heavy blanket!
Someone had taken him unawares. They were transporting him some—
His body was suddenly shifted and elevated. His mid-section made contact with another surface.
Now what?
He abruptly began moving, his torso bouncing up and down with the rhythm of whatever he was on.
A horse?
Was that it? Someone had captured him and was carrying him on a horse?
Brother! Were they in for a surprise! They’d neglected to take his Pythons.
As soon as they freed his arms they were dead meat!
Chapter Seven
The Freedom Federation Army was camped for the night on the northern outskirts of Loveland, Colorado. The fighters from the Clan, the Moles, and the Cavalry were in exceptional spirits. Another day in Colorado, proceeding toward Denver at a turtle’s pace, and still no evidence of hostilities from the forces of Samuel II. Some of them discussed the matter as they sat near their campfires to ward off the cold night air.
Why? they wondered.
And they were not alone in their speculation.
Standing alone on the southern edge of his encampment, his immense chest and black-leather vest covered with an ill-fitting fatigue jacket, Blade brooded on the same subject.
Why?
First Fort Collins, and now Loveland. Both cities deserted, abandoned by their citizenry. Neither defended by the military.
None of it made sense.
Blade frowned, bothered by the persistant thought it might all be a trap. Why else would Samuel II let them have Fort Collins and Loveland unopposed? Why-There was someone behind him.
Blade’s keen instincts sensed a presence even though his ears had not registered the slightest sound. He spun, his hands dropping to his Bowies.
The diminutive figure three feet to his rear smiled.
“Rikki!” Blade snapped. “What do you think you’re doing, coming up on me like that? If I were Hickok, you’d have a bullet in your brain right now.”
Rikki-Tikki-Tavi stepped closer. He shook his head. “Hickok would have heard me. And so would you if you weren’t so preoccupied. What is it? Are you still concerned about the prospect of becoming Leader of the Family?”
“No,” Blade said, facing south again. “I’m puzzled as to why Samuel hasn’t made a move against us yet. Fort Collins, Loveland, and every spot in between have been handed to us on a silver platter. Why?”
Rikki, his ever-present katana in his right hand, stood alongside Blade.
“You are in command of this expedition. What do you think?”
“There are several possibilities,” Blade stated.
“I’d like to hear them.”
“It could be a ruse to suck us into an ambush,” Blade said. “But why would Samuel go to all the trouble of evacuating the populace for that?”
“What else?” Rikki probed.
“They don’t have as many troops and armaments as we believed they did,” Blade continued. “We already know the war severely impaired their industrial production. Most of their munitions, their vehicles, weaponry, and ammunition are antiquated. The geographical area they control lacks crucial natural resources. Either they lost most of their men in Cheyenne when Yama and Lynx used that thermo on the Doktor’s headquarters, or their army is off somewhere else. If so, where?”
“What other reasons might they have for not engaging us?” Rikki inquired.
“They may have heard about what we did to the Doktor in Catlow,” Blade remarked, “and they’re afraid to take us on. But I don’t see that as very likely.”
“There’s one thing you missed,” chimed in a newcomer.
Blade and Rikki-Tikki-Tavi turned.
He was four feet tall, this newcomer, dwarfed even by Rikki-Tikki-Tavi.
Only four feet tall, weighing 60 pounds, he was the size of a child with the power of a giant. His wiry body was covered with thick, grayish-brown fur.
His only clothing was a leather loincloth.
“What do you mean, Lynx?” Blade asked.
Lynx came closer. His gleaming green eyes, his pointed ears and pointy chin, and the reddish nails on the tips of his thin fingers all conspired to produce an inhuman appearance. As well they should. Lynx was one of the few surviving members of the Doktor’s Genetic Research Division, the Doktor’s personal assassin corps developed through his experiments in genetic engineering and his manipulation of test-tube embryos. Lynx had rebelled against the Doktor and joined the Freedom Federation’s cause.
Rikki-Tikki-Tavi stared at the creature, perplexed. He hadn’t heard Lynx approach. How was that possible?
“I may have a clue as to why Sammy’s got the heebie-jeebies,” Lynx offered in his high-pitched voice.
“The heebie-jeebies?” Blade repeated.
“I think it has something to do with the thermo,” Lynx said, ignoring the interruption.
“The thermo?” Blade reiterated.
Lynx squinted up at Rikki and held his right hand cupped around his tiny right ear. “Is there an echo here or what?”
Rikki grinned.
“When we were busting heads in Callow,” Lynx detailed, “the Doc said something real strange to me. The dork wanted to know what I did with the rest of the thermos.”
“The dork?” Blade absently interjected.
Lynx gazed up at the huge Warrior. “Are you on drugs or something?”
“The Warriors do not contaminate their bodies with pollutants,” Blade replied stiffly.
“Hey! Listen up, Dimples!” Lynx said. “I was only yanking your jock strap.”
“My jock strap?”
Lynx reached out and tapped Blade’s knee with his right hand. “Are you trying to drive me wacko?”
“Why can’t you speak simple English?” Blade countered.
Lynx shook his head. “Whatever you say. But pay attention. You know I used a portable tactical thermonuclear unit on the Doktor’s headquarters, right?”
“Right,” Blade confirmed.
“And you know we call these units thermos?”
“I know that.”
“Well,” Lynx elaborated, “the Army had a bunch of thermos near the Doc’s headquarters. They were blown all to hell when the HQ went up. But I don’t think they know that. I don’t think Sammy knows they were destroyed.”
“Do you mean Samuel thinks we have some of these portable nuclear devices with us?” Blade asked.
Lynx looked at Rikki. “There’s hope for the big guy after all.”
Blade’s features lit up. “That would explain it! That would explain everything! Samuel believes we have a thermonuclear device. He’s afraid we’ll use one against his army or on his cities. That’s why they haven’t hit us yet!”
“It’s a logical deduction,” Rikki concurred.
“This is great news!” Blade declared.
“I’m glad I made your day,” Lynx quipped.
Blade impulsively grabbed Lynx and lifted him from the ground, laughing all the while.
“Put me down!” Lynx demanded, squirming in Blade’s grasp.
“I could kiss you!” Blade exclaimed happily.
“You do,” Lynx warned, “and I’ll bite your lips off!”
Blade deposited Lynx on the grass. “Don’t you see what you’ve done?”